Chapter Text
Really, it was Micah’s fault.
Arthur urged his horse through the East Grizzlies, trying to enjoy the soft golden glow of the field in the morning sun. His eyes drifted around the area. The hunting trip had been unsuccessful so far, mostly because of Arthur’s desire to track down another grizzly bear. According to the trapper who was becoming a regular stop for Arthur, a perfect grizzly pelt could be made into a rather nice, custom fit saddle. The saddle that came with the tall, dapple grey Hungarian Half-bred he acquired from Benedict Allbright was old, worn, and frankly a little uncomfortable after a full day of riding.
It was very unlike the horse herself. Young and vibrant, the mare took to Arthur almost immediately. She confidently trotted down the trail, and even though she spooked at seeing a snake earlier, she didn’t buck him off, so he counted that as a win. He named her Dakota, after having to fish her previous owner out of the Dakota River seconds after trying to collect the man’s bounty. In the end, he received fifty dollars and a new horse for his efforts!
The hunting trip was a suggestion from Hosea. Two days ago, Arthur left Strawberry bitter and angry from rescuing Micah Bell from jail. If he had known what was about to happen, he would have left the man to hang! Immediately after springing the whining, simpering idiot from his cell, Micah turned his borrowed gun on half the town. Arthur was forced to kill or be killed while lawmen and citizens alike turned their weapons at the two outlaws. They managed to escape, but not before Micah killed a man and woman inside a house just to retrieve his precious guns.
When Arthur rode into camp alone, as Micah insisting on getting a score as an apology to Dutch, he was quiet and withdrawn. Dutch asked what happened with Micah, and Arthur snapped a reply about the situation. Then, Dutch only seemed concerned about where his man was and not what said man had done, causing Arthur to feel even worse. The anger building since Micah joined the gang was about to hit its peak. Between the failed ferry robbery (Micah’s idea), the way he reacted to finding Mrs. Adler (literally burned her house down), and now this? Sure, Dutch seemed to have a soft spot for people who had saved his life, but Micah didn’t fit in with the rest of the gang. Fortunately, Hosea overheard everything. He pulled Arthur out of his dark thoughts by ordering him to take some time for himself to relax and clear his head.
Stopping to inspect an old structure, Arthur was immediately struck by the smell of rot. Two bodies sat just beyond the torn down door, a clear sign of an animal attack! And a large bear too, according to the paw print just outside. Arthur took a moment to feel sorry for the poor bastards that had pissed off a grizzly, but couldn’t help but wonder if the bear could still be around somewhere! Mounting Dakota again, he guided her off the path into field. Loading his rifle, he kept his head on a swivel for scraps of fur, animal dung, and other trail indicators. But it seemed he was too late. The field came to life as the sun continued to rise, with deer, elk, and a small herd of wild horses trampling the red and purple flowers. Whatever predator lived here was long gone.
There was one last place to check: the small patch of trees nestled near the steep incline of the mountain. If there was any sign of a bear, he would find a place to set some bait and wait. If not, it was probably time to return to camp, maybe track down an elk for the camp on the way. They were still trying to recover from the disaster at Blackwater. So far, Arthur had brought in money from the monster bear pelt, the O’Driscoll money stashed in the chimney at Six Point Cabin, and the bounty he collected. But unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly enough for a camp of their size, and any chance to plan for a larger score kept being interrupted.
Rescuing Sean was a good interruption. Thinking about the rescue of Micah just put Arthur in a foul mood again.
It was in this foul mood that Arthur stumbled on another cabin, though he could barely call it that. The structure was mostly open, no door blocking its entrance. He turned Dakota to investigate further, the splashes of color that he could make out from the distance promised possible loot. But not far from the entrance, Dakota planted her feet.
“Come on girl, it’s alright,” Arthur tried, nudging her sides with his spurs, but the horse refused to move. She tossed her head, and when he tried to move her forward again, she gave a small buck. Not enough to throw him from the saddle, but enough to let him know that she didn’t plan to go anywhere. Wondering if an animal was inside, perhaps the bear he was looking for, Arthur slid quietly from the saddle, rifle ready.
But the cabin appeared empty! And odd, very odd. Arthur slung his rifle over his shoulder, eyes widening as he took in its features. The walls looked like they had been taken over by the surrounding woods, with vines and branches filling the spaces where barriers once stood. The red pillows that originally caught his eye matched with a red cloth on a table. Liquor bottles, old books, and a mixing bowl joined the feathers and human skull on the dusty surface. Curious, Arthur opened one of the books to find weird writing, clearly a language other than English.
“CAW!” Arthur jumped at the loud noise, hand sliding to his holster as he spun around. A raven was perched at the back of the cabin, watching him with judgmental eyes. Unlike most birds, it didn’t fly away when he approached. It guarded a disturbing collection of animal bones. One elk skull, with a large set of antlers, stood out immediately. But there were other bones around, some suspiciously human. Animal meat, seemingly freshly carved, was left out on a block near many lit candles. Moonshine was next to herbivore bait. And, the most disturbing of all, was the bubbling cauldron of dark liquid, left to heat over low flames.
For some unknown reason, he really wanted to drink it.
Halfway to the cauldron, Arthur stopped. “This is stupid,” he said to himself, and went back to looting the cabin. Whoever made the brew was probably trying for poison. He picked up the bait, figuring he could use it later. He wasn’t a fan of moonshine, like some people he knew, but Charles had recently asked him to bring some back to make fire arrows, and Arthur had kept an eye out for it every since. It joined the bait in his satchel. He was about to open the chest near the front, content to get out of there, when the raven screeched again.
“Shoo, get outta here!” Arthur shouted, but the raven stared pointedly at him, then turned its head to the cauldron. Arthur’s eyes tracked its gaze, mesmerized by the slow boil. Without conscious thought, he stood and began to move towards it. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell terrible. A faint, floral scent filled his nose, the opposite of the black color filling his sight. But his eyes dropped to the meat, the alcohol, and he shuddered. Who knew what was sitting in that cauldron! Perfume aside, it probably tasted terrible. And, on top of that, it was mysterious liquid sitting in a seemingly abandoned cabin with the world’s oddest bird doing a shoddy job at guarding it.
“What am I doing?” he muttered, even as his hand moved by its own accord to his satchel and retrieved the small tin cup normally used for coffee. In a daze, his hand dipped the cup into the boiling liquid, but for some reason, the liquid didn’t feel hot and no steam rose from the cup. As the cup moved towards his lips, he felt no temperature change. The raven watched him. He drained the cup and tasted… nothing?
Why did he drink it again? Hosea would kill him if he knew!
Arthur made it two steps away from the cauldron before the world went black.
He woke with a gasp! Panic raced through his veins as he picked himself off the bed of wildflowers. A few feet away, Dakota grazed on the grass, completely undisturbed by the day’s events. Based on the sun, it was still morning, and Arthur began to wonder if the cauldron existed at all.
He picked himself up off the ground, a little weak and shaky, but seemingly intact. The small, wooded area was close, so he left Dakota to her grazing and walked, revolver drawn. He found the cabin quickly enough, but the raven was gone, the candles were unlit, and the cauldron was empty!
“What the hell?”
This wasn’t right! He couldn’t have imagined it. He drank the liquid, passed out. Did more time pass than he thought? His beard was still the same length at least, and his clothes didn’t seem any dirtier. Oh, Hosea would kill him if he knew!
Arthur whistled for Dakota, suddenly very determined to get out of the area fast. He could track a deer or elk in Cumberland Forest for Mr. Pearson’s stew, but there was no way he was staying here! Dakota begrudgingly left her grass and trotted over, without the previous fear of the cabin. He mounted carefully, still feeling a little ill, and pushed her to a canter down the road. Only when they were around the bend and the woods out of sight did he pull back on the reins. He let Dakota carefully pick her way down the narrow trail off the mountains, deep in thought.
It was well into the afternoon when he found himself in Cumberland Forest, and all thoughts of hunting had left him. He felt sweaty and exhausted, half paying attention to the trail. Dakota was still new and probably wouldn’t find the camp by herself. Still, he slouched in the saddle. The few other riders he met on the road were careful to avoid him as if he had the plague. An old, blind beggar turned his cup towards Arthur, screamed, and ran away! Arthur chose not to think too much about that. Thankfully, he was still in the saddle when they reached Valentine, and Arthur debating stopping at the local doctor. But what would he say? Hey, I drank from a cauldron straight out of a story of witches, can you fix me up? It was better to go home. They still had a few medical supplies, and Hosea’s herb knowledge should be enough to cure him. And maybe he just needed sleep, considering the last few nights contained restlessness and nightmares. Maybe he even hallucinated the mysterious liquid, a dream made for his tired mind.
Mindlessly, he turned Dakota down the path to Horseshoe Overlook. “Who goes there!” Lenny said, raising his rifle at Arthur in warning,
“It’s me, kid,” he groaned, feeling on the edge of collapse.
“You look awful. You okay?” Lenny asked, rushing forward to help, but Arthur waved him off.
“I’ll be fine,” he said unconvincingly, but it kept Lenny at his post. Arthur pulled Dakota to a stop and slowly dismounted, barely giving the horse a pat before heading towards his tent.
“Hey O’Driscoll! Could you take care of her for me?” he said.
“N-not an O’Driscoll,” Kieran stammered, but he scampered towards Dakota anyway. “Sure, Mr. Morgan.”
Arthur shuffled away. Despite their treatment of him, the O’Driscoll boy had saved his life at Six Point Cabin and taken over most of the camp duties surrounding the horses. He knew the boy would treat Dakota right. Normally, Arthur would spend the time brushing her down and feeding her treats, hoping to strengthen the bond forming between them. But he didn’t feel up to anything else that day. He barely managed to kick off his boots before face planting into his cot.
“A little tired?” Hosea chuckled, walking over to Arthur. “I’m surprised you didn’t come back with a deer or something. Wasn’t this supposed to be a hunting trip?”
“Wanted a bear,” Arthur muttered. He flinched when a cool hand wiggled between his forehead and the cot.
“You have a fever. How long have you been feeling sick?” asked Hosea, concern filling his voice.
Arthur weakly swatted at the hand and missed. “Since this morning.”
“Any clue what caused it?”
Choosing to just lie and shake his head, Arthur immediately regretted it when the action made him nauseous. Fortunately, Hosea noticed him turning a little green, because a bucket was there when he finally leaned over the edge of the cot and threw up.
“Alright, I think I have some herbs that may help. Let me make you some tea.” The bucket stayed by his bedside, just in case. Arthur rolled himself onto his back, squinting after Hosea as the older man wandered off. He passed Miss Grimshaw and spoke briefly to her, the contents of the conversation becoming clear when Miss Grimshaw abandoned whatever she was doing to head towards Arthur instead.
“Let’s hope you aren’t contagious, Mr. Morgan. We can barely afford to have one sick person right now, you especially!” She said all this with her usual scolding tone, but the hand she placed on him was gentle. Whatever conclusion she came to, she didn’t comment. Instead, she began to lower the canvas around his tent.
He smiled slightly, still awake enough to joke. “Must be dying if I’m bringing out your mothering side, Susan.”
Miss Grimshaw slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t you talk like that! You better not die, or I will pull you from Heaven myself to do camp chores!”
For some reason, the mention of Heaven brought Arthur back to the massacre in Strawberry. “Think you might need to look lower,” he whispered. Whatever Miss Grimshaw intended to say about that, however, was interrupted by the return of Hosea.
“Thank you, Susan,” he said as she helped sit Arthur up. “Now drink this, Arthur. We’ll have you back on your feet in no time!”
Arthur hesitated at the tea, the slight floral smell reminding him of the mysterious liquid of the cabin, but the light brown color and hot steam helped him push past that thought. He sipped the tea carefully while Hosea replaced the bucket and tidied his tent. Arthur watched him in a stupor, eyes blinking slowly closed. Hosea took the cup from his grasp, and steady hands encouraged him to lay back down.
Just before he drifted into sleep, Arthur said, “Hosea?”
“Yeah, Arthur?”
“Think I drank somethin’ I shouldn’t’ve.”
“What, a bad batch of moonshine?” Hosea asked, a little amused.
“Sure, somethin’ like that.”
“Well, I’m surprised you were drinking at all after that night with Lenny!” Hosea teased before turning serious again. “Get some sleep, we need you strong and healthy.”
He felt a light blanket being tucked around him as he drifted off.